


Come Home to Roost

by Nejinee



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky waxes poetic about Steve's junk, Exes, Getting Back Together, Humor, M/M, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Weed, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 08:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nejinee/pseuds/Nejinee
Summary: Seeing your ex at a party is bound to be awkward. Seeing your ex, whom you're still deeply, desperately in love with, at a party, is a whole other level of awkward.





	Come Home to Roost

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little something I whipped up. Please excuse any errors and such. :)

“This,” Bucky held up a strangely wrapped canapé, “What is this exactly?”

Sam glared at him and whipped a hand-towel onto his shoulder like some fancy chef-like person.

“You come into my kitchen and say shit like that to my face?”

Bucky grinned.

Sam sighed loudly, “It’s a smoked ham and potato spring roll, you asshole."

“Ah, the truth will set you free, Wilson!” Bucky said and bit into the spring roll. _Delicious!_

“You made it!” Natasha whispered, sidling past Bucky, who was perched at the kitchen bar top. She moved around the island and opened up the ancient, oversized fridge she and Sam liked to fill with booze. “I didn’t think you’d show up,” she said into the fridge door. She was wearing some strange silvery-denim skirt, sky-high platforms and a black turtleneck. She pulled back, a vodka bottle in each hand.

Bucky glanced at his watch, “Hey, it’s only…eleven PM. I’ve been later.”

“This is true,” Sam said, nodding while he chopped cilantro.

Music blared from the living room and a roar of laughter went up from the crowd back there.

Bucky twisted around and looked at the milling crowd of party-goers. God, he hadn’t seen these people in _years_.

“Hey, I didn’t know you and Sasha Montgomery were still talking?” he said to Natasha.

Natasha smirked while filling up a tray of shot glasses. “We weren’t, not after she spiked my drink in college and made me miss rehearsal for Midsummer Night’s Dream.” She capped the vodka bottle and set it down on the expensive marble counter. “But I got over that.”

“You mean, she came crawling back looking for work and you, this amazing New York-based acting agent, opened up your books for an old friend,” Sam nudged Nat’s elbow.

She rolled her eyes. “I like the version where I’m the gracious adult and I allowed her back into our social circle.”

“Mmm,” Sam hummed, mixing up some kind of salad with his hands. “You prefer the lie version.”

“Don’t we all,” Bucky said, sipping at his Grolsch.

“Hey now, how’s my main man doing these days?” Sam said, clapping his hands. Bucky watched him manoeuvre around Nat to get to the sink.

“I’m not doing anything,” Bucky answered. “Fuck, would it kill you guys to get some bar stools?” He was tired of leaning on the counter.

“Ix nay on the ar-stool-bay,” Sam shook his head. “Madam decorator has veto power on shit like that.”

“Yeah,” Natasha cocked a brow at Bucky, “Also, I don’t want damn bar stools at a party, because I want people to _mingle_ , make _friends_ , make happy and not sit and mope around on their lazy asses.”

Bucky made a face, “You’re a sadist. I had a long day at work, let a guy sit down, rest his weary bones.”

“I _am_ a sadist, yes,” she smiled back, “but enough about my bedroom lifestyle, how about you go take a seat over on the couches with everyone else? Go make some friends, James.”

A petite asian woman swirled past Bucky and around to Sam, an air of the finest Mary J wafting behind her.

“Sammy, Samither, Samwise the brave,” she said, “you have _got_ to tell me the recipe for these pastry-wrapped whatevers.” She held up a flower-shaped food item.

“That’s just deep-fried cheesecake, Mel,” he laughed.

“James,” Natasha was around the counter and in his face so fast, Bucky yelped and sprang back.

“Jesus! Nat, don’t do that!”

She peered into his soul, it felt like, and pursed her lips in that way that made him rethink ever coming to their fancy Brooklyn brownstone for a birthday party.

“I haven’t seen you in three weeks,” she hissed, “I’m glad you’re not dead under the overpass, or whatever,” she went on, “But you listen here–”

“We’ve been texting all month–” Bucky tried to say.

She pointed a finger at his face, “You’re here to have a good time, okay? Fuckin’ go smoke a joint or something before I smack you into the middle of next week. How hard is it for you to just chill with your very special and loving friends?”

Bucky looked up at Sam, who was smiling like a damn idiot.

“I can’t believe you _choose_ to live with her,” Bucky hissed at him.

Sam laughed, “Every day is a blessing, Barnes.”

Fine.

He is _not_ going to chit-chat because he doesn’t want to. He _is_ , however, going to smoke a joint. Somehow.

 

—

 

“Wait, what?” Steve frowned, which only made everyone laugh for some reason.

“It’s like a meme within a meme within an old joke farm from 2002,” Rhodey said with a sigh. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, beer dangling between his legs.

“But it’s just… a cat?” Steve said slowly, unsure.

“A vibrating fat cat, yeah!” Tony laughed.

Everyone else burst out laughing and Steve felt, yet again, completely out of the loop.

“C’mon, Rogers!” Tony smacked Steve’s thigh. “You can’t be serious! Tell me you know about Heavy Breathing!”

“I–” Steve stopped himself from saying, _I have no idea what you’re talking about_ , if only to push out horrifying college flashbacks where Tony and his squad would bully him relentlessly for not being up on the latest gossip.

Steve could build a motorcycle from scratch; he could rewire an old Honda in two minutes, but that didn’t matter if he didn’t pay attention to memes or have a directory listing of all the famous and fat internet cats in his head. So sue him.

How was it that he was still about ten years behind everyone else? In college it had been drugs. In High school it had been a car. In middle school: playing a sport.

Hell, nowadays he had a favourite NFL team, had done varying degrees of weed, _and_ owned his own motorcycle shop. He was cool now, _wasn’t he?_ Didn’t he get a free pass?

“Same old Rogers,” Tony chuckled and shook his head. Well, that answered that.

Where was Sam? Steve liked Sam better than all these other bozos.

Well, Rhodey was good. Bruce was nice, too. As was Pepper and T’challa.

He sipped at his drink, trying to pretend he was cool with the ribbing. It didn’t bug him as much as it used to.

Steve stood up under the pretence of stretching his legs.

He turned and looked around at the bustling open-plan home that Natasha shared with Sam.

It really was a lovely place.

He remembered when the two of them had first gotten the keys and shown him around. Back then (what, three years ago?) the place had been a dump _and_ fire hazard in one.

But with a helluva lot of elbow grease, pizza painting parties, lumber yard trawls and plumbing disasters (on the part of Sam), they’d been able to renovate the rickety old house and turn it into a fresh, modern home fit for any home beauty catalogue.

He looked around at the décor.

His eye was caught by one of his own drawings, framed and lit up by the wall of art. He smiled. Looks like Sam had finally gotten around to putting their collection up.

Some movement caught Steve’s eye. There were a _lot_ of people squished into Nat and Sam’s boutique house.

Steve blinked. Someone was walking over, distracted by the wall of picture frames. Steve would know that face, that profile anywhere. He choked on his beer and ducked to the side, hoping the overgrown ficus could hide him.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Steve groaned.

He looked around a lush green leaf and stared at Bucky Barnes looking over the wall of art, like some art curator.

Steve snorted. Bucky hated talking art. He’d always rolled his eyes in museums, said it was all bullshit, not worth a second of his time. That had been one of those red flag moments for Steve. The bitterness at the back of his throat must be from the beer. Steve frowned.

Bucky's hair was longer, curling at the ends. He looked different. He was…bigger. Must be hitting the gym pretty hard…

How long had it been?

Steve chewed on his lip, watching Bucky look over the framed prints Sam loved to buy at art fairs and shows. Sam liked to call himself a ‘patron of the arts’ which only made Steve love him more. Bucky _did_ look good. Healthier. He had more colour in his cheeks than the last time Steve saw him.

Bucky turned.

Steve twisted and almost knocked Wanda onto her ass.

“Jeez! Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered harshly for some reason.

Wanda laughed and clung to him as he righted her.

“Hello to you too,” she smiled. “I thought you were heading to the kitchen?”

“Was I?” Steve blinked owlishly.

“Uh, if I want a drink, yes?” She grinned. “Come on! Sam’s been cooking all day. Let’s go stuff our faces with high-end food and tell him how much we love him.”

Steve couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, if you insist.”

When he turned back, Bucky was gone.

 

—

 

“Fuck!” Bucky slammed the bathroom door shut behind him. He panted and pressed back against the wood, counting to ten as slowly as possible. “Fuck,” he hissed again. _This_ was why he never went to these fucking get-togethers.

He swallowed and opened his eyes.

“Uh, hi,” someone said, waving.

“Shit motherfucker!” Bucky jumped. “Clint!”

And yes, Clint Barton was sitting perched on the toilet lid like some kind of inverted fruit bat. He was barefoot. And smoking.

“What brings a gal like you to a place like this?” Clint smirked.

“You messed up the saying,” Bucky wiped at his hair, pushing it off his face.

“Hi to you too,” Clint took a drag of his smoke. How was he always so chill? Even back in college, Barton had been able to make it through finals with nary a hair out of place. Bucky eyed the hand-rolled smoke in Clint’s fingers.

“Mind if I have some?” Bucky asked, moving to sit down on the edge of the fancy claw-foot tub. He rubbed anxiously at his thighs with both hands.

“Be my guest,” Clint huffed and handed the joint over.

“Why are you smoking in _here?_ ” Bucky asked, taking the spindly thing between his thumb and forefinger. He took a slow drag and handed it back.

Clint shrugged, “I need a soft buzz, and a lot of noise sometimes makes me go all paranoid instead. Gotta offset that shit, you know?”

“So you came to the guest bathroom?” Bucky raised a brow at him.

“Well, I also took a piss,” Clint chuckled.

Bucky exhaled slowly.

Clint eyed him. “You came in here all in a rush,” he murmured around the joint. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“You’re not my therapist,” Bucky sighed, feeling the gentle loosening of his limbs. Clint handed the joint over.

“ _You_ got a _therapist?_ ” Clint said, reading through the joke.

Bucky hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Huh,” Clint blinked, “Nice.”

“Work health insurance covers it,” Bucky breathed out, then choked. He coughed into his elbow.

“I see,” Clint nodded and took the joint back. “Another reason for me to get a job, I guess.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, it only took, what? Ten years for me?”

“Hm,” Clint shrugged, “we're all waiting for the day we can afford it, Barnes. If not now, then when?”

“Stop spouting Pinterest quotes at me,” Bucky groused. “I get enough of that at work.”

“Work making you come running into Natasha’s bathroom like the hounds of hell are chasing you?”

“What?” Bucky frowned, “No?”

“So why do you look like you sat on a snake and it bit your balls?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Clint stubbed the smoke out on the marble sink counter. “Damn this place keeps getting fancier and fancier. Look at this Carrera marble, man. Knew I should have proposed to Natasha in sixth grade. I would be living it luxe, man.”

“Steve’s here,” Bucky sighed.

Clint turned to him. “Yeah? He… usually is?”

“I know,” Bucky huffed, rubbing his hands down his leather jacket. “I mean, I forgot, but I know.”

Clint watched him fret.

“You two still not talking?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Dude…” Clint said gently. “It’s been…like, ages, hasn’t it?”

“Two years and three months,” Bucky breathed out.

Clint nodded sagely.

“Why’s he even here? I mean,” Bucky rubbed at his nose, “I _know_ why he’s _here_ , but why here _now? When I’m here?”_ He pushed at his cheeks with his palms, looking not unlike a chipmunk with a cheekful of nuts.

Clint smiled. “You guys set ground rules about stuff like this?”

“No…” Bucky looked forlorn.

“So…why wouldn’t he be at his best friend’s birthday party?”

Bucky’s stomach sank.

 _He_ used to be Steve’s best friend, not Sam.

 _He_ used to be Steve’s boyfriend too, back when they were still scrambling for work, still trying to pay the bills, still trying to … whatever it was they’d been doing. Fucking, mostly. But life stuff too! Bucky sighed. He usually couldn’t think about this stuff; hurt too much. The weed was definitely doing _something_ , so that was good.

“We’re both grown-ups, yeah?”

Clint nodded.

“So we shouldn’t be freaking out about this anymore, huh?” Bucky went on.

“Well, is _he_?” Clint asked.

“I don’t know,” Bucky said. “I saw him and then, kinda…” He scratched at his knee.

“You fuckin’ booked it didn’t you?” Clint busted out laughing. “Oh, my man, you are a hot mess tonight. Where’s cool, calm, sexually unavailable Bucky Barnes? The man who leaves panties wet and dicks on salute? Where’s _that guy?”_

Bucky blew a raspberry with his lips. “That guy is dead. All fake. Always has been.”

“What? No!” Clint made an incredulous face. “C’mon. Bucky Barnes, purveyor of sex appeal and suave one-liners is my hero! That ain’t fake!”

Bucky raised his brows and sucked his teeth. “Sorry to tell you, pal, but I’ve been pretending I was any good at that shit my whole life, you know? My ma always said, ‘everyone’s pretending. You just gotta fake it better than them.”

Clint’s jaw dropped.

“But, in high school, you got to do it with Sadie Wexler, prom queen and super-tall captain of the hockey team!”

“I also,” Bucky held up a finger, “got a blowjob from Randy Chavez, captain of the football team, so what’s the deal?”

“You were my king!” Clint cried, hands in his hair. “Don’t go telling me you’ve been faking this confidence all along! My puny brain can’t handle that!”

“Well, I’m sorry!” Bucky yelled back, hands scratching at his jeans again. “I’m a big fake, okay! A fakedy-fake bastard who fakes!”

The tiles in the bathroom were very bright, weren’t they?

“Have your eyes always been purple?” Clint leaned in real close and blinked, his nose moving to the right.

“Oh no…” Bucky said softly.

“You’re a faker,” Clint whispered, lips pouting and turning a bright shade of green. “Unbelievable.”

“Oh no…” Bucky whispered again into his jacket.

“So, Randy Chavez, huh?” Clint warbled weirdly from right beside him inside the tub. “Tell me more.”

 

—

 

“What’s happening?” Steve asked.

“Uh,” Wanda sipped her beer and looked to where his gaze had fallen, across the room and down the hall where a group of people had gathered. “Something about someone being sick in the bathroom, maybe?”

“Ah, okay,” Steve swigged his own beer.

“So, Steve,” Wanda nudged his arm. “Any new love interests?”

See, this was another thing about seeing his friends at parties. They always wanted to talk relationships when all he wanted to talk about was the new Lego movie coming out, or the latest RPG video game.

He rolled the beer bottle between his hands.

“No…nothing on my end. You?”

Wanda shrugged, “A little bit here and there. You know how it is.”

No, he did not. Steve was not…good at dating. He realized this only a month or so after he and Bucky broke up. Whatever the hell Bucky’d seen in him obviously wasn’t related to Steve’s social prowess. He’d gone on more disastrous dates than he’d care to remember, and after finding one date waiting outside his window the next morning, Steve had decided that perhaps dating wasn’t an imperative anymore.

Bucky had taken up so much of his time and focus that rearranging his brain to look for someone else just hadn’t panned out.

Everyone just wanted to get laid. Steve wanted more.

 

—

 

“I miss his dick so much,” Bucky groaned. “It was so beautiful, so perfect.”

“I feel that,” Clint chuckled. “Not literally, but you know, a good dicking is always nice.”

“Steve’s dick is the best,” Bucky sighed, remembering so many good memories between himself and Steve’s cock. “So pink, so _big_ , so perfect.”

“Amen,” Clint cheered with an empty hand.

The banging on the door got quieter.

Maybe the invading goblins had gotten tired?

The lock clicked loudly and Natasha entered, face a dark cloud.

“What in the seven hells are you two doing?” she hissed.

“Nat!” Clint crowed. “We’re so happy to see you! Come lie down in this bed of roses with me and Barnes!”

Natasha looked them over.

“What the fucking hell did you smoke?”

 

—

 

Two hours later and Bucky felt like his brain had been mashed through a combine-harvester.

“How are you feeling?” a deep voice said.

Bucky tried to roll over but couldn’t. He opened his eyes.

Jesus fuck. Was he in a _bathtub?_ He tried to sit up, but the edge of his boot was stuck on the lip of the tub and he was scrunched up like a fuckin’ beetle.

“Christjesusfuckinghell!” he wiggled about angrily until his leg slipped free and he kneed himself in the face. He felt like his punishment had finally come home to roost. “Fuck!”

“Oh jeez, Bucky, come on, sit up.”

Bucky took the offered hand and was pulled upright, no longer curled into a ball inside the bathtub like an infant.

Then he stared at the large, warm hand in his, recognizing the bony wrist attached to it.

His eyes flicked over the edge of the tub, coming to meet none other than Steve Rogers’ beautifully dark blue eyes.

Bucky closed his eyes and groaned.

“Yeah. Hi,” Steve said drily.

“Why are you here?” Bucky groaned, hands covering his face. He wished the bathroom would just catch fire (maybe from a body oil slick?) and let him die.

No such luck.

“Natasha had to take Clint home and Sam said you wouldn’t get out the tub because the wizard told you not to.”

Bucky peeked out from behind his hand. “I what?”

Then a vague memory of a cartoony wizard in flowing pink robes came to mind.

“Hmm,” Steve hummed, leaning back against the tub so he didn’t have to look at Bucky, probably. “You were pretty high.”

“Damnit,” Bucky huffed. He felt tired and his left eyeball was pulsing with his heartbeat, but other than that, it seemed the weed’s powers had worn off. “That wasn’t marijuana was it?” He sighed.

Steve shrugged. “Dunno. Doesn’t look like it. You made Sam recite the recipe for apple fritters three times before he gave up.”

Huh. Sam _did_ make amazing fritters, though.

Bucky’s stomach growled.

The two of them sat in awkward silence for a moment while he composed his thoughts.

“I need to go home,” he said finally.

“Probably,” Steve said, not moving an inch.

This was the first time in forever that they’d even been in the same room since…well, whatever.

“Where’s my jacket?” Bucky asked.

“Here,” Steve lifted his hand, showing off the black leather that must have been sitting in his lap the whole time. Bucky took it and attempted to slide into it without getting up.

Why the fuck was he in a bathtub anyway?

He sat there for a moment, pondering his life.

Steve’s hair looked soft, cut short against his nape. Bucky wondered if he still giggled like a chimp whenever someone licked his ear. He contemplated asking.

“You look good, Buck,” Steve piped up suddenly. “I mean, not right now, but…earlier.”

Bucky blinked. He _knew_ his hair was in disarray and he probably had pink cheeks and sweaty eyeballs from the dope but here was Steve…complimenting him?

“Uh…” he said intelligently.

“Clint told everyone you sucked off half the football team in high school,” Steve went on. He wasn’t looking at Bucky so who knows what his face was up to.

“Uh…” Bucky shrugged into his jacket properly. Even in times such these, a leather jacket always helped. “Well, that’s not…true?” Steve didn’t say anything. “Who would have…the time?” Bucky finished lamely.

Steve looked up, seemed to think about that, then snorted. Well, okay then.

“Yeah, the logistics don’t make sense, I suppose,” Steve said.

He turned and looked at Bucky

The two of them must look like idiots, one in the tub, the other on the bathroom floor.

Goddamn, Steve was even more handsome these days. How was he _more_ handsome? Didn’t age, like, erode at peoples’ faces? God! His skin was so smooth, his jaw so strong, his eyelashes so long!

“Uh, you okay, Buck?” Steve’s brows got that little concerned furrow between them.

“Yeah,” Bucky wiped at his mouth. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve was watching him. “How’ve you been?” He said slowly.

Bucky shrugged. He was about to hand over some false platitude about life and it’s highs and lows. Instead he just said, “Lonely.”

Steve blinked.

Bucky sucked his teeth.”I mean, I’m good. I’m fine. Life is fine. Work is fine. Everything is fine.”

“But you’re lonely?” Steve said softly.

“No,” Bucky sighed. “I’m just…” he shrugged, not really able to fake for long with Steve. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Steve said. “You never seem to come to Sam’s parties.”

“Well, my schedule’s pretty changeable,” Bucky lied. In truth, he’d just avoid the ones he knew Steve would be at. It was better for his ego to not see Steve living a happy, wonderful life without him.

If he was honest, he only felt lonely when he thought of Steve. Maybe because Steve had filled up so much of his life, his time - and not having him around made the days just go on for ages.

“Really?” Steve said, eyes wide.

“What?” Bucky looked up.

“You just said–”

Oh _fuck!_ Bucky was absolutely going to _murder_ Clint the next time he saw him.

Steve chuckled. God, Bucky missed that sound. It made an ache rise out from under his ribs and grab at his heart.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Steve laughed.

“Yeah…” Bucky said.

“I mean, I don’t see hide nor hair of you for, well, forever, and next thing I’m hearing you tell people how much you love and miss my dick and how you wish ‘Reginald from the bank’ had a cock like mine and what a disappointment he was in the end because he also didn’t have my balls to match.”

Bucky’s eyes went so wide he thought they might pop out of his skull. “Jesus in hell, what are you talking about?”

Steve turned to him with a smug grin. “You were talking very loud, Buck.”

“Oh my _God_ ,” Bucky cringed into his jacket. “Kill me, Jesus. Do it now.”

Steve laughed deeply.

Then he twisted around and got up on his knees, arms resting on the lip of the bath.

“Did you mean it, Buck?”

Bucky looked out from under his hair, wishing he was every inch the thirty-five year-old he was meant to be. He just felt like a sloppy teenager instead.

A teenager in love with his best friend, the kindest, brightest star on earth, only outshone by the sun itself.

Steve smiled wider. “Sorry, I missed that, pal.”

_Damnit! Stupid weird drugs!_

“Did I mean what?” Bucky griped instead.

“Did you mean everything you said about me? Do you actually miss my dick and balls?”

“You’re not actually expecting a response to that,” Bucky intoned, face deadpan.

Steve grinned like a sunflower. “I haven’t had this much fun in a while,” he said. “Usually it’s just Tony ribbing me, and Natasha hounding me to start dating again.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, “that's weird, ‘cos she’s always telling me how many guys you’re seeing every other week.”

Steve frowned. “Huh?”

“It’s not true, is it?” Bucky said, realizing. “You haven’t been balls-deep in a ton of guys since we broke up, have you?”

Steve slowly shook his head.

“That scheming wench,” Bucky growled. “She’s been trying to rile me up, make me jealous! You know, next time I see her–”

“That made you jealous?” Steve asked.

Bucky paused, caught up in his words. He glanced at Steve, closed in by the tub. What a stupid place to have this conversation.

“…No…”

Steve’s mouth tilted up at the side. “You sure?”

Bucky’s heart hammered in his chest. Why the hell hadn’t they been able to make this work? It was clear as day! He and Steve were fucking soulmates!

“One time,” Bucky said carefully, “Nat told me you were on a date with some fancy real estate broker who wore expensive suits and had an Amex platinum card and took you to all the fanciest restaurants for dinner.”

Steve waited.

Bucky took in a deep breath, about to unleash the crazy. “That was the one time I considered tracking this douchebag down and throwing him into the river, never to be seen again.”

“Why?” Steve asked, resting his chin on his forearm.

“ _Because_ ,” Bucky said, “You hate fancy blowhards who flash their cash around. And you like Chinese street meat and comic book stores and fuckin’ secondhand duds from Goodwill. And if he was really dating you, he should be taking you to the local art galleries, to the Met, to whatever new age artist was blowing up in this Godforsaken town. And why in the fuckin' seven hells would you date a _real estate broker?”_

Steve smiled. “I’m fascinated by Natasha’s stories. Did she tell you about our imaginary real estate broker sex life too?”

“Ugh,” Bucky groaned. “Yes, Said you kept going on and on about this guy’s dick and ass and how big his hands were! I mean, come on!” Bucky felt angry and flustered, even if he’d only just twigged that Natasha’s stories were all fabrications made to piss him off. “Why’d she do that?”

“I think,” Steve said with a knowing look, “She wanted a reaction.”

“Because?” Bucky said.

“Because you…miss me?” Steve said gently, almost in a whisper.

Bucky froze. “Well, _duh._ Of course I miss you! I’ve never missed anyone more than I do you! You don’t gotta be rocket scientist to figure that out! Stevie, c’mon. I been in love with you since I was _ten._ I can’t erase that shit! Breaking up with you was the dumbest, worst thing to ever happen to me. Even my ma says so. She’s _still pissed_ about it! I actually went to the MOMA by myself once, just because you used to talk about that one piece with the yellow stripes. That piece used to piss me off, you know? And there I was staring it down, wishing i was there with you. Me missing you ain’t anything new, pal.”

Steve blinked at him, mouth open in surprise.

“Really?” he said, voice rough.

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Bucky said with attitude. “Who wouldn’t miss your ass?”

“And my face?”

“And your face. And cock and balls.”

“Can’t forget those,” Steve smiled, getting up onto his knees.

Bucky’s breathing was a little erratic. What a weird place to end up. Steve was looking at him like he used to once upon a time. Like, like maybe he didn't despise Bucky. Like maybe he–

“Are you…” Bucky began, just diving in. He swallowed, then continued. “Are you gonna get in this tub with me or am I gonna have to haul you in?”

Steve’s smile grew wider. “Oh, I thought you’d never ask, Buck.”

 

—

 

“Are we calling them a cab?” Sam said, washing the dishes at the sink.

Natasha came up beside him to start drying.

“They’re a bit busy. Let’s give them ten minutes.”

Sam paused. “Woman, tell me we do not have two grown-ass men having sex in our bathtub.”

Natasha smiled, “We do not have two men having sex in our bathtub.”

Sam peered down at her, the light of his life, the scariest woman on earth.

“What?” She smiled. “You told me to say that.”

“Oh Lord,” Sam sighed. “You shoulda just let them be.”

“Why?” Natasha said. “We’re the ones that had to listen to them both mope and complain and moon about each other for _years_ , Sam. Years. I was tired.”

“So you got lucky with Clint’s hokey weed, great job.”

“Bold of you to assume Clint brought his own weed to my party, Sam.”

Sam paused in his chore and watched his girlfriend pack away a stack of dishes. He was reminded once again how lucky he was that Natasha chose to love him and thereby place him automatically into her good books. The alternative was too terrifying to comprehend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
